


If The Cybernetic Mind-Controlling Vibranium Arm Fits...

by gigglingkat



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, I might even make it canon-compliant, M/M, Needs More Dinosaurs!, So Wrong It's Right, WIP, but I know how it ends, drink the kool-aid, it's not even crack so much as I've lost my mind, more tags to come, there is a plan, there's an outline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:44:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9000457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigglingkat/pseuds/gigglingkat
Summary: An MCU Stucky Fairy Tale





	1. Once Upon A Time (A Prelude)

**Author's Note:**

> No beta as Sara has abandoned us, in our hour of need, for WoW. She's left all the commas to my mercies.

Once upon a time, in a far away kingdom named Breuckelen, there lived a king and queen. They were just and kind rulers, who loved their only child, a son named Steve, very much. They were also cursed.

The king was cursed with a war against an evil, magical foe and he died far from home. The queen was cursed with a spirit too strong for her body. She contracted a fever and died soon after. The prince was cursed with many ailments and the kingdom knew he would die young.

But, Howard Stark, Lord Protector of the realm, had loved the king and queen and vowed that their child would live. He devoted his life to the care of his friends' child and kingdom. Both flourished, but the prince was ever sickly.

Lord Stark searched endlessly for any cure for young Prince Steve, mundane or magical. When he was not traveling or bringing in foreign wizards, he was nursing Steve through sickness at all hours of the day and night. There were even rumors he'd missed the birth of his own son to tend to one of Steve's fevers.

The Great Enemy attacked with renewed venomous vigor and Howard was forced to send his wife and child far away to safety. Steve refused to leave his parents' palace, instead committing the works of the great strategists to memory, and arguing to be allowed to lead his troops into battle.

Then, Howard Stark found a wizard, who had fled the enemy's grasp, filled with horror at what had been done with his magic. He wanted nothing to do with the war, and even less to do with the desperate and brash Lord Protector. But, he met the young prince and changed his mind.

That story was told many times in many ways, but there was always: a cursed prince, a man of science, and a wizard with one last spell of hope. The truth was lost in all except that the prince was now the strongest hero in the kingdom.

There were adventures and even, sometimes, a _love_.

But, in truth, there was just a _war_. The prince became another lost hero in a far away battlefield of ice and death, sacrificing himself to save the kingdom. Price Steve defeated the enemy but did not live happily ever after. 

But, this was _not_ that story.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Lord Stark lost a piece of his soul in the ice with the fallen prince. Not even his returned wife and child could completely heal the wound. Within a year, Lord and Lady Stark were also lost. Their carriage was found mangled at the bottom of a canyon. Some blamed weather, or horses, or the carriage, although none alive could ever recall such things hindering Lord Stark before. 

Lord Tony Stark was too young to assume the title of Lord Protector. Obadiah Stane, a brilliant politician and distant cousin of Tony's mother, came forth to claim guardianship of the young Stark and the grieving kingdom. If Lord Stane was harsher than the late Lord Stark or the barely remembered past king and queen, well, these were darker times.

The young lord grew wild under his guardian's indulgent care. When Tony's twenty-first birthday came, he had no interest in being Lord Protector and Stane had no interest in asking him to take it. They both grew rich beyond measure, and if some in the kingdom grew poorer, surely that was ever the way of the world.

Tony Stark wandered the kingdom with the army and haunted the smithies in every city and village, becoming the kingdom's darling, a last link to an age of glory. His mind was full of science and machines, like his father's, and it earned him the army's loyalty. 

Until one day, Tony disappeared from the army's encampment. The army mobilized faster than orders could direct, finding the enemy who dared to attack a Stark. The Seven Rings originally thought to kill the prodigal, but the plan quickly turned to kidnapping. Tony Stark was their only shield against the surrounding army's wrath. His mind was a resource and the kingdom held its breath in fear, waiting for the day Tony would be forced to attack his own.

After a year, however, Tony simply walked home, returning very changed and with a magical suit of armor. He used it to protect the realm and become a darling of the masses once more. Gossip abounded that he was finally ready to claim his birthright from Lord Stane.

But, this was not _that_ story either.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

20 years after all believed he'd perished, and 17 years after Howard Stark's own death, Prince Steve was found alive! He returned to his kingdom with a brother-in-arms, a knight named Sam. The pair appeared in the palace on the day of open Common Court — the word spread throughout the land like wildfire. The prince had not aged a day since he had disappeared, but all scientific and magical exams confirmed he was the prince.

It meant that Lord Stane was no longer the rightful ruler. As the kingdom waited to see if Lord Stane would step aside, Prince Steve explained that he had been frozen alive by an evil magic and had missed much. He proclaimed that he would not take the throne until the Lord Protector and the Parliament declared him fit to do so. Some proclaimed him wise beyond measure, while others proclaimed him a fool for allowing Stane time to rid himself of the inconvenient heir.

Prince Steve made Sam the Royal Falconer and the pair moved into the royal apartments in the palace. If Lord Stane did have nefarious intentions to his newly named ward, he was careful to keep them private. Outwardly, all appearances were that he took Prince Steve's proclamation seriously, setting up legal examinations before Parliament.

The first exams were public, but there were a series of "accidents" associated with them. The public called them assassination attempts, but, both Lord Stane and Prince Steve assured all who asked that they were merely unfortunate occurrences brought on by the large unchecked crowds. Future exams were conducted only for Parliament and the royal household. The accidents did not stop, but the gossip of them did.

Prince Steve and his ever present Falconer appeared oblivious to the dangers that apparently stalked their every move. Prince Steve certainly showed no signs of concern, as he continually impressed the assembled nobility with his knowledge of the most obscure of the kingdom's bylaws. In fact, the only signs of concern at the palace were tales of late night shouting emanating from Lord Stane's apartments and an oddly growing number of open positions in his household.

The prince's relationship with Lord Tony Stark was an odd one. Upon returning to the palace, Lord Stark took up new residences in Prince Steve's apartments rather than return to his old ones under Lord Stane's roof. Before Prince Steve had left for war, Howard Stark had gifted him a shield made of a magical metal, vibranium. Lord Tony Stark gifted the prince with a wondrous mechanical carriage, made of the same rare metal. The number of mishaps that befell the Prince and his Falconer were reduced in number from that time on.

Yet, the two royals did not adventure together and were, in fact, rarely seen together. Lord Stark still worked daily and appeared socially more with Lord Stane. Lord Stane openly referred to Tony as his heir and heart's son. Those who felt a conflict was brewing between Lord Stane and Prince Steve did not know what to make of it.

Without consulting Lord Stane or the Privy Council, Parliament threw the royal court into confusion by suddenly declaring Prince Steve fit for rule. The nobles declared that they would expect a plan of Coronation from the Lord Protector and the Privy Council by end of winter.

This was where the story began.


	2. There Lived A Prince and A Blacksmith

Prince Steven Grant Rogers and Sir Sam Wilson strode down the many palace corridors, making their way to the Council salon. Both men were in full dress uniform, Sam was even wearing his bright leather falconry gloves and carrying his favorite bird, Redwing. It had been an unspoken decision upon receiving the summons. Steve wondered what new delay Lord Stane had managed to concoct to keep him from his father's throne. Sam made a face and hand signal, letting Steve know that he was unconsciously clenching his jaw and fists. He forced himself to relax and appear nonchalant.

He was surprised to realize he recognized this gallery. It was part of the original lodge from Steve's youth. One of the many things that had changed dramatically in the decade he was gone was the palace. Howard had expanded greatly to consolidate the search efforts for the lost prince and Obadiah had continued expanding in the name of kingdom glory. Steve found the result ridiculous and wasteful. One of the many things he would change once on the throne.

Although, the indoor plumbing was a vast improvement over privvy pots and holes, as Tony often pointed out.

Sam rolled his eyes and signed. _Are you thinking about Stark again? You have the Stark frown on your face._

Steve rolled his eyes right back and exaggerated the frown into a caricature, making Sam laugh. _I don't have a Stark frown. I have a frown for not knowing where someone's loyalty lies. And not knowing if people can put aside their own concerns and sacrifice for the greater good._

 _Stark frown is easier to sign,_ was all Sam replied before sending his bird swooping through the hall ahead. A stifled curse rang out and the Falconer grinned.

"Sorry," Sam called out. "I didn't realize anyone was here."

A flustered page provided a tight smile and walked past, either on true business or caught spying for Stane, neither man could tell. One never knew what spies lurked in the hallways here. The palace household numbered well over a thousand noble servants, in various roles and honors, and a couple thousand more commoners in what Sam referred to as "the real jobs." The result was a seemingly endless stream of people who appeared in all corners and alcoves, all wanting to curry favor from Steve in some manner. 

Steve longed to clean out the entire palace, but reminded himself to be patient. Before making his very public return, he and Sam had lived on the common grounds for several months. They never learned the extent of Stane's network, it included everyone from privvy attendants to ministers. They learned that Lord Stane obtained loyalty by greed or fear, threatening life and loved ones of those he could not buy. It was impossible to know who worked for him willingly or who might be persuaded to pledge loyalty to Steve. 

This left Steve with only one way to the throne — public and legally legitimized beyond all doubt. Men like Obadiah Stane existed in shadows and made others afraid to speak out. Steve would force the man into the open and make no moves against him until Parliament and the nobles fully ratified Steve as king. He could only hope this would rally enough to him to avoid civil war.

Tony Stark had provided an unforeseen wrinkle. If Steve became king and Obadiah moved against him, public opinion and legal precedent would sway most to Steve's cause, achieving victory with little bloodshed. But if Steve became king and _Tony Stark_ moved against the crown, Breuckelen would never be the same. But, Steve couldn't tell if Tony was truly blind to Obadiah's true nature, or if he was playing a similar long game to Steve's own. Despite formal declarations of allegiance and an ever present breezy and nonchalant air, Steve sensed a personal resentment from Tony that he could not understand.

His musings were stopped by their arrival at the Council's salon. The pages were two young nobles Steve had never seen, reinforcing his earlier unease. They saluted smartly and entered the salon to announce them. Steve and Sam exchanged a _battle ready_ sign and stood slightly closer and more alertly than normal. As the pages swung open the doors, Sam preceded Steve into the room by two steps, a protocol none had ever questioned. 

The Privy Council met in one of the oldest rooms of the palace. It was a room that Steve's father had used for private dinners and the long dining table was now the council's own. Steve hated the sight of Obadiah seated at the head of it, and was relieved to find him standing to the side with the other members of the Privy Council.

Obadiah drew apart from the rest of the Council to greet them. "Steve, Sam," he said jovially, indicating that the tone was to be casual and informal. His attempt to offer Sam a handshake was thwarted by Redwing and Steve regretted forgoing his shield as he had to endure a hug. "Have a seat, gentlemen, let's not get tied up in ceremony."

Considering the ceremony would be to defer to _Steve's_ wishes, not do what Obadiah ordered, Steve was certain Obadiah didn't want to stand on ceremony. Sam just turned slightly with a grin and impishly dropped into the closest seat before his liege. Steve couldn't help but grin at the horrified looks from the Council. 

Sam, seeing no pages rushing to arrest him, started to swing his legs up to the long table before Steve stopped the effort. 

"Not _that_ unceremonious, I'm sure," Steve admonished in a joking tone. Sam's antics also left the seat at the head of the table, by default, assigned to Steve, not Obadiah. Steve stifled a laugh and took it. After a beat, the rest of the Council scrambled for seats. Some nearer to Steve than they ever had been before. That was interesting. 

Stane looked amused, but offered no comment, merely taking the seat at opposite Steve. "I'm sure you've heard Parliament's proclamation," he stated flatly, getting quickly to the business at hand.

Steve found it a relief. "Yes," he agreed. "Nearly a year of no action, but they want you gentlemen to move a kingdom in two months."

Obadiah gave a gracious shrug. "When you're king, you'll find that is to be expected from our Parliament. Having made a decision, they are often surprised at the consequences."

"How can I help?" Steve asked, please to note the narrowing of Stane's eyes at the suggestion he needed assistance. It was a fleeting victory.

"Actually, we did want to privately warn you of several... _peculiarities_ in the protocols for a Royal Entry."

Sam asked, "A Royal Entry?"

Steve was grateful for the moment to mute his own reaction. Obadiah glared at Sam with more annoyance than he allowed in his voice, "Yes, after so long a vacancy of the throne, there are a series of events designed to allow the people to get to know their new royal family."

Steve could see Sam catch the insult - Steve wasn't new, he was the rightful heir of an established line. The two shared a look and Sam gestured at Steve, _fuck the enemy and the fates_. Steve felt his lips curled in a grudging response. 

"Yes, I suppose I qualify as a new legacy after all this time," was all he said, noting the two counsels who flinched at the wording. Phil Coulson, Royal Chamberlain, particularly looked pained. Of all of Obadiah's counsel, Steve trusted Phil the most, Coulson's family had held the title dating back to Steve's own father's reign.

Obadiah's eyes grew small in evaluation, but finding no fault in Steve's language or manner, he apparently grew bored with the needling. "Tony —"

Steve and Sam were startled to find Stark behind them in a seat by the door. _Sneaky bastard,_ signed Sam.

"What was that?" Tony asked Sam, who widened his eyes in query. "Do you two realize that you don't always talk aloud?"

Steve and Sam looked surprised at each other. "Do we?" asked Steve.

"Oh, the sign?" Sam spoke over Steve. "Sorry, Lord Tony. You get into the habit after so many years of captivity."

Everyone except Tony looked uncomfortable at the reminder. Tony merely nodded, "I became acquainted with the practice during my own brief incarceration." 

Stark's eyes darkened slightly at the memory. "I don't recognize your language though. I was led to believe that it was something of a standard."

It was a confirmation of something Steve and Sam had theorized upon their return. Although sign was still taught to the military, after years of personalizing it to themselves, while the kingdom had separately evolved it, the differences were enough to provide a sense of security.

"Really?" Sam managed to sound excited and intrigued. Steve found himself biting the inside of his cheek not to grin. "Can you show me? What's changed?"

Steve composed his face into innocent interest. It would be nice to know how much of their private communication could be deciphered.

Stark smirked. "Well for instance, 'sneaky bastard' is more," Stark made a similar gesture to Sam's previous one, with the right middle finger in a different position. "What was that?"

It had been a muffled snort from Steve, who conveyed, from long practice, complete innocence. Tony's eyes narrowed but his smirk stayed in place, allowing Steve to escape.

"Really?" Sam croaked. "What if you mean it as a compliment?"

Tony's smile reached his eyes this time. "When _isn't_ it a compliment?"

Sam grinned back. Steve found himself heartily wishing he knew for certain where Stark stood, not for the first or last time.

"Tony," Obadiah attempted to call his ward to order.

"Yes, Obbie? Oh! Yes, the _surprise!!_ " Tony turned to the chair next to him, picking up an older looking book. The tome obviously was centuries old, but Tony dropped it with a careless thump in front of Steve. The strangled noise Phil made was ignored by all. Tony also pulled up the chair from the wall to position himself between Sam and Steve.

"You, my liege," Tony intoned with deep formality, "need to prove that your line is, and I quote here, 'stable, plentiful and secure to the next generation'." Tony gave him a conspiratorial wink. "Apparently, we don't want to have to do this too often."

Steve frowned. "I'm the only remaining Rogers, but most of you here are already blood relations — " He trailed off as realization hit.

Sam's eyes darted from Steve's to Tony's faces, trying to assess the situation to no avail. "What? What's wrong?"

Phil spoke up, "The bylaws state that Steve should be married and have a 'proven' method of providing heirs to the throne _prior_ to accepting the crown."

Sam's bark of laughter broke the rising tension in Steve. "What if our boy picks a man?" He glanced to Phil. "He can't be the first bisexual royal you've had."

Phil shrugged. "That's permissible, he's simply required to secure an heir. Adopted or blood isn't specified. And, yes, we've had similar situations in the past."

Tony waggled a finger. "Point of order, Chamberlain. He has to provide an heir _and spare_ , the law wants to know the next three specific asses to grace the throne. After that, he just has to tell us what order he likes the rest of us."

Sam's breath sucked in, finally catching the trap Steve was in. He was being asked to produce a spouse, two children and a succession order for _all_ the noble houses in the kingdom. If Steve listed the houses by order of loyalty to him, he would reveal his allies to Obadiah.

Obadiah had found a way to force his hand.

While Steve's head swam with possibilities and plans, Sam and Tony were still making heir puns. They ran out of ways and the tension began to creep back. None of the Council members spoke.

Phil finally cleared his throat, "We did wonder if this might not be as difficult to produce on short notice?"

Steve was shaken from his reveries to look up, finding all the council looking pointedly between him and Sam.

"No." Steve flatly denied. He could tell that Sam briefly flirted with the idea of a pretend romance, but Steve would not allow it. It would put an even larger target on Sam's back, and Steve had wasted too many years of his life to pretend for the rest of them. "Sam and I are not lovers."

He smiled at Sam, who blew a kiss back. Tony was looking contemplatively between the pair. "Damn, but Rhodey owes me money. Can you tell him? You? Oh, can _I_?"

"Tony!" Obadiah's tone brooked no foolishness. "We need to take this seriously. The kingdom requires a clear line of succession."

"Like ducks in a row," muttered Tony, although only Steve and Sam could hear.

Steve cleared his throat. "What will Parliament do when I don't magically produce a spouse?"

Tony waved his hand in the air at the tome in front of the prince, "Oh, don't count it out just yet. There's a whole chapter yet to go!"

For once, Sam was ahead of Steve. "Don't tell me they actually —"

Tony flashed a wolfish grin just for Sam. "Oh yes, Chocolate Bird. We two are actually in charge. Apparently Falconers and Protectors make the best party planners!"

Sam's eyes lit up and Steve had the strangest floating sensation. "You two are in charge of what?"

He tried to look at the book, but Tony and Sam pulled it away and bent over it, obscuring his view. Sam grinned over at Steve. "Buddy, we are going to throw you a _ball._ "

"And a tourney!" Tony agreed. In an aside to Sam, he added, "I wanted to combine the two, but Lady Stane is convinced the mud and blood will _never_ come out of the ladies ballgowns."

Sam shrugged. "It would be hard to clear the bodies out of the way between waltzes, too, I suppose."

"No one is dying!" Steve blurted out.

"I've already instructed the armory, your Highness," interjected Phil. "When you select a master of ceremonies —"

" _Please,_ pick me, pick me — " Tony begged.

" — that person," Phil continued, raising his voice only slightly over Stark's, "will have careful instruction to maintain the order."

"So, _not_ picking Stark," Sam quipped, earning a glare.

"Hey, we're supposed to be partners here."

"Wait. You know what that word even means?"

"I work with people!"

"Tony, telling people what to do, or waiting until they're done and redoing it, is not working _with_ people."

"I have no idea what you're referring to."

"I'm not letting you replace Redwing, Stark."

"I was trying to _add_ to your bird. Look at it! It's still resentful! I see you, Feathers, with your plotting."

The two bickerers had been slowly working their way to the door. Sam signed something to Steve, but the prince was too deep in his own thought to see it.

"What was that? You're doing it again. You know who talks in a language no one else speaks? People who aren't good at working with people. Obbie, tell him." While he spoke, Stark turned smartly on his heel and marched determinedly to his guardian. "You should come too, show this bird keeper how we — _we_ , because we did it _together_ — put on a real show."

Stark manhandled Obidah into standing and affably began shoving him towards the door. Obadiah protested, but allowed himself to be led out. The rest of the Council hastily muttered niceties and Steve half heartedly waved them on. Phil lingered.

"I beg your pardon, your Highness — "

"Please call me Steve, Phil."

Steve thought he caught the barest flicker of delight on the man's face before centuries of bred manners restored order. Phil cleared his throat and continued, "Steve, thank you. It's really an honor — er, that is, if you don't mind me asking, are you feeling well? I haven't seen you so shaken by anything regarding your duties to the throne before."

"I knew I would need to provide for a legacy," Steve answered carefully. "I was just startled by the ..."

" — imminent nature of the event?" Phil offered. At Steve's nod, Phil looked casually, but quite throughly, around the room, verifying they were alone. Steve, recalling several devices he had seen Tony and Obadiah use, stood quickly.

"Actually, Chamberlain — excuse me, Phil, I must return some of the books I borrowed while studying. Perhaps, you could walk with me?"

The odd, fleeting moment of delight appeared again, but all Phil did was nod.

The two made their way out the doors leading to the gardens and farms. It was the shortest path back to Steve's apartments and was also the least likely to have surveillance. As they came far enough away to assure privacy, Phil spoke up.

"Thank you, your —, Steve, thank you. I hope you realize a formal Royal Entry was not a unanimous request. Lord Stane has many allies, but you also have friends."

Steve smiled. "I remember you from before, you know. When you were clerk to that tall man — the one with the amazing beard?"

The delight stayed on Phil's face. "Yes, that was my father. I remember meeting you, of course. I didn't dream you would remember!"

Steve laughed. "You were the only one that shook my hand."

Phil blushed. "That breach of protocol took me _years_ to live down."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, I rather liked being treated as an ally. So there was dissent to the Entry? It's not without legal merit. My family _has_ been off the throne for nearly 25 years."

"Yes, Lord Stane is quite adept at finding legal technicalities. I was very pleased you didn't give him the satisfaction of being insulted." Phil looked over his shoulder and the pair waited until a gardener passed before continuing. "I am sorry, if I hadn't truly thought you and Sam were closer, I would have created more of a fuss and delay."

Steve shook his head. "It's fine, Phil, really. And Sam and I are too familiar with each other's faults — they nearly killed us both enough. I may never trust another the way I trust Sam Wilson, but it isn't love."

They had reached the apartments with the multitude of pages. "And, besides," Steve joked, for the spies as well as Phil, "if I don't fall in love at the Entry, I can always force Sam to marry me and raise his kids."

He hoped that would get back to Obadiah, let the man think Phil had spent the walk pestering him about Sam. Phil was quick enough to understand. "I hope you took no offense, Your Highness," Phil said with just enough playful emphasis on the title to indicate his understanding. "I meant no interference. I just did not want you to feel you had to hide anything."

Steve tried to sound bored, "No offense taken, Chamberlain. I know the Council will support whomever I choose as spouse."

Phil bowed and walked off. 

Steve entered the apartments and grabbed the book he'd mentioned to Phil. He'd better return it and make the minor play complete. He walked out the adjacent end of the apartments and into the marbled courtyard. The skies were threatening snow, he noted. Perhaps it was the snow that made the idea of selecting a betrothed so difficult. It was too sharp a reminder of warm stolen kisses on frozen nights.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The soldier awoke to the uncommon sensation of warmth. He was seated in the forge and not in his berth in the outer barn, but he did not recall being moved. This was not unusual, but being woken by the commander, Brock Rumlow, was. 

"Soldier, respond," said Brock.

"Ready to comply," answered the soldier, abandoning the slight curiosity the situation had aroused. It did not matter where he was brought, only the mission mattered.

"You are going to follow me out into the storefront, and you are going to act like nothing except a blacksmith," ordered Brock, who was sweating more than the warmth of the forge could account for. The soldier briefly wondered if he should question Commander Brock's authority to provide a mission, but discarded it. General Zola had made it clear that Brock was second in command only to Zola himself.

"Understood," the soldier replied, standing and crossing to the wall where aprons hung. He chose a well used one and grabbed a leather strand to tie back his hair. 

Brock had already dressed the soldier in a long sleeved, lightweight gray tunic and dark pants that would serve to hide his more physical oddities. He rubbed his right hand along the wall and then his face. A small mirror on the wall allowed him to see his blue eyes peering at him from a slightly smudged face. Pulling on heavy forge gloves to hide his hands, the soldier judged his camouflage sufficient. He appeared to be a blacksmith who had attempted to wipe soot off instead of a soldier rubbing it on.

The commander apparently agreed, giving a satisfied nod before leading the way out of the forge and through the smithy to the storefront. He further briefed the soldier as they walked. "Some herald from the palace showed up, stating that he had to speak to 'all unattached persons of age' in the residence. It apparently includes you, who knows why. Zola's keeping him occupied."

The soldier allowed himself to be pleased at his earlier correct assessment of Brock's authority. He offered, "If it is the herald that brings the tax proclamations, he previously inquired where I lived and where my children were. It was necessary to define my role as unattached."

Brock stopped. "Wait. Why did he think you had children?"

The soldier shrugged. "He did not specify, even after the correction was made. He only offered drink again."

Brock looked puzzled, which pleased the soldier, who hadn't known what to make of the exchange either. Zola had dismissed it, so no further action or intelligence had been forthcoming. The soldier had been placed in his berth and not required to work the smithy since. After a moment, Brock asked to clarify the offer and the repetition.

"The herald came daily and offered food, snack and coffee. I accepted as the mission was to blend with the community," the soldier was pleased to see Brock's nod of confirmation. "On the third delivery, the herald inquired about children and then offered paid refreshment from the pub down the lane."

Brock's face cleared in understanding and with a chuckle he began walking again. "Soldier, the herald is _flirting_ with you. He was trying to ask you out. C'mon, let's give him his fix so we can all get back to work."

The soldier filed the intelligence. "Should I flirt back?"

Brock shook his head. "Absolutely not. A lovesick herald of the crown is the last thing we need hanging around."

The soldier nodded his silent understanding, as the two stepped into the storefront. The herald, who was indeed the one previously encountered, stood straighter as they approached. Brock smirked, but the soldier's expression remained neutral.

Zola shared Brock's amusement, although the diminutive general often appeared to have a personal joke in his mind. "Perhaps, _now_ , you will be so good as to share what urgent matter requires us all? My wards have work to finish tonight and we can hardly afford the time."

The herald appeared disappointed and pulled out parchment from his messenger bag. He handed one to all three men, saying as he did, "By order of the Lord Protector and the Privy Counsel: In order to secure his throne and legacy, the crown prince is to select a spouse. Being unattached and open to all designs, the prince has declared a Royal Entry. 

"A series of balls and tourney are to be held at the palace in the coming fortnight. All unattached persons of age are invited to join the event with the express purpose of joining themselves in marriage to the kingdom and Prince Steven Grant Rogers."

"Prince Steve?" Bucky blinked. _Steve? Steve died. They all died._

The other men in the room — _Who are they? Where am I? —_ were startled. Bucky saw Zola's hand move to the table.

A shock hit the soldier's left arm, but he did not show the pain. He wondered what the name Bucky meant, but, as it did not seem to be related to the current mission, he discarded it.

Brock was standing behind the herald. The soldier's assessment was that the herald had no good situational awareness, and was currently in extreme likelihood of enduring a snapped neck. He was also staring at the soldier with an emotion that might have been concern, but the soldier did not react. Such expressions were often tests and failures ended in punishments.

"Yes, Prince Steve," the herald confirmed. His voice was soft and he tried to hold the soldier's gaze. "The first ball is in two nights time and a tourney will follow two days after that. After the inaugural events, continued participation is by Royal, Privy or Parliament invitation only. After two more balls and tourneys, participation is by Royal invitation only. The Royal Entry may conclude at any time should the prince select a betrothed."

"The prince has no strong preference for gender or chastity. Widows or widowers with children are not excluded, although any claims to the throne will be contingent upon the prince adopting them as heirs. There is a clause prohibiting persons unattached by means of divorce. The prince wishes all to know it is a legal and not personal exclusion. The law in question is antiquated and appears to arise from a concern of 'stability' and may be addressed in future sessions of Parliament."

"Can we get on with this?" Brock complained, having abandoned the threatening position. "We get it. Everyone wants the prince to get married and he's not picky about what warms his bed as long as it's of age and not divorced. Must love kids and dogs, no doubt. Anyone wanting a shot can go prance and preen up at the palace while the rest of us get on with our lives. That about sum it up?"

Even the soldier could identify the emotion the herald was expressing as indignation. Zola moved quickly to intercede. "I must beg your indulgence, my good herald. My wards truly do have several hours of work to yet complete, and Brock," Zola smiled in a mimicry of fondness, "he has never been the most patient of souls."

The herald huffed and looked to the soldier. Brock's earlier words were recalled and the soldier selected an action to maintain the mission parameters of 'act like nothing but a blacksmith.'

"Thank you for the announcement," the soldier stated, selecting the voice intonations called 'cold and indifferent.' "If there's nothing else, I'm not hungry or thirsty at the moment either, and we must complete our work for the day."

The herald blanched and hurried from the store with the minimum of courtesies and decorum. As soon as the door closed, Brock stepped forward, hands raised in conciliation to Zola. "Sorry, Boss. Fair's fair. He did that because I told him not to flirt back."

"A lovesick herald of the crown is the last thing we need hanging around," the soldier parroted to them. Now that Brock had intervened, the soldier was aware of signs of Zola's displeasure. Although Brock was correctly stating the situation, the soldier mentally prepared for punishment.

Zola waved a hand. "It does not matter. But, you should not have dismissed the idea of attending. If we go, the herald may find it remarkable and remark upon it."

Brock scoffed, "Why the hell would we attend?"

Zola shrugged. "Our friend in the palace may find it a convenient way to allow us access." He turned to the soldier. "Why did you interrupt when the herald was speaking?"

The soldier had no reply and offered none. Brock smacked the back of his head with casual force, sending him to his knees. "Answer, soldier."

"There is no answer. I have no memory of an interruption." He stayed down on his knees but leaned up to take the weight off his hands.

Brock's hand raised for another blow, but Zola put up a hand of his own. "Soldier, you repeated a name. You have no memory of doing so?"

The soldier determined this to be a test, as most things with no discernible logic often were. "I did not say a name. An unidentified person repeated the name of Prince Steve."

Brock began cursing. "Shit. Shit. Shit. Is this a glitch? Do we have to reset him? What the _fuck_ , Zola?"

"Calm down, Commander," ordered Zola, the use of his title silencing Brock. "I delivered a corrective shock immediately, it may have distorted the situation in his mind. A reset might be hasty, and we may need him in the imminent future. We will not have the time to do so properly."

Zola leaned forward to study the soldier's face. "Prince Steve," he said.

The soldier waited, but the general did not elaborate a command. After a ten count, he straightened and nodded to Brock. "An aberration, but no more. Monitor him closely and if it happens again, we will begin the unfortunately long reset process. Our soldier would not be a viable option for the duration."

He sighed deeply. "These are fast moving times and I will not limit myself unless forced to do so." He waved his hand dismissively. "Leave. Both of you. I must contact our friend in the palace and learn what I can."

"Should I put him in the berth?" Brock asked.

Zola shook his head. "No. It's possible the glitch occurred because of the hasty awakening. He will not be as efficient if we keep icing and waking him. Leave him be for now."

Brock saluted and the soldier followed suit. Brock then led the soldier back to the forge. The soldier spent a few hours organizing the forge and it's materials, filling the orders he found in the ledger. This was in accordance with previous missions, but then another oddity occurred in a night filled with them. No one returned to give further instruction.

Left to his own devices, the soldier sat in a chair near the warmth of the cooling forge. He fell asleep, the sensation a novel one. He was not certain if it was normal to hear chanting.

_Steve is alive. Steve is alive. Steveisalive. SteveSteveStevestevestevestevestevesteve_

"Steve is alive," Bucky Barnes muttered, as he finally drifted into slumber. No one noticed the embers of the forge flare in response.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

_The wind was screaming in the mountains, carrying snow like fog, freezing men where they stood. Bucky turned to joke with Morita. The mountain sang better than Steve._

_Morita was gone. The line's frayed end flapped at him, but he'd never even noticed the lack of tension. He pulled the line in front of him to signal a stop._

_To his horror, it fell easily, its end just as frayed as the line behind._

_"Bucky?" Steve's voice called on the wind. "Bucky?"_

_Bucky reached up to climb towards the voice, but his left arm was a bloody stump. His right hand slipped and he fell into the darkness below._

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The soldier awoke in forge again with the commander.

"Soldier, respond," said Brock.

"Ready to comply," answered the soldier.

"You will take no action. You will sit and answer my questions only until I tell you otherwise," Brock ordered.

"Understood," the soldier said, not even nodding his head in compliance. He noted Brock held Zola's magical device in his hand, but there was no pain in his arm at the moment.

"Do you remember last night?" Brock asked. 

"My last memory is the night the herald came to the forge. I was required to be a blacksmith and not flirt back when the herald proclaimed that we were invited to the palace. Was that last night?"

"Yes. You don't know what day it is?"

The soldier risked shrugging, but Brock did not appear to find it a violation of mission parameters. "Dates are only notable for mission success. Should I track dates at all times?"

"No!" Brock was alarmed at the thought. "I never realized just how fucked in the head you were. Never mind. Do you know who I am?"

"You are Commander Brock Rumlow, your orders can only be rescinded by yourself or General Zola. You are members of Hydra, a resistance to the chaos in the kingdom of Breuckelen."

Brock grinned. "Hell, yes. Wait. You don't think you're a member of Hydra?"

The soldier shook his head. Again, Brock did not appear to find that taking action and did not punish the soldier for disobeying. Zola would have been much stricter and the soldier wondered at the change. Still assessing, the soldier clarified, "I do not have identity unless assigned one. Membership is an identifier."

Brock let out a whistle and moved the device to his pocket. "Royally fucked up," he drawled.

"No identity at all? How the hell does that even work? What do you call yourself? What's your name?"

"I do not have a name. I am a soldier."

Brock sat silent for a moment. " _A_ soldier. Not even _the_ soldier. Wow."

After another silence, he continued. "How do you know to follow Zola?"

The soldier was suddenly uncertain of mission success. A tremor was developing and although Brock had not moved towards the device, he had obviously noted the reaction. "Zola is the general. I follow his orders. I —" 

Vision was impaired by tearing in his eyes, although he could not identify the irritant. "I do not know why."

Brock leaned forward. "C'mon, there must be something rattling in there. What do you owe Zola?"

The tremors and the tears eased. The soldier recited, "I owe my life to the general. When I almost died, he took great time and expense to restore my life and much of my body. The arm is a combination of magic and technology and is impervious to much of each. There are other portions of the anatomy that required similar repair."

"How did you almost die? What happened? Where the hell did he find you?"

The soldier didn't understand. "What do you mean?"

The commander was too invested, leaning close and off balance. The soldier did not think it was a show of trust, but could not determine what would distract the commander so.

"You really don't understand. It's amazing. People don't just exist half dead and missing arms. There's a story before that story. What is it?"

_Steve died. They all died._

"They all died," Bucky said.

"Who are 'they'?" Brock asked. But, before the soldier could ask as well, Zola's voice called from the store.

"Gentlemen, your presence please."

"Yes, sir," called back Brock. He turned to the soldier. "Wipe away all traces of tears."

The soldier moved to the mirror and complied. Brock continued, "You will follow me to the store and not inform Zola of our questioning."

"Zola can override your command, but I will not offer information prior to direct order."

"Sufficient. C'mon. Let's see what the old gremlin wants now."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The general — the soldier assumed the term "gremlin" was to be included in the secret intel session — had made contact with the palace. His assumptions had been confirmed. He and Brock were to attend the Royal Entry festivities for a mission not shared with the soldier.

"Am I not going as well? Invitations were inclusive and compliance helps blending," the soldier asked.

Brock smirked, "Yeah, Zola, let the guy have a little fun. He'd be gorgeous in a tux."

"He is not a doll, Commander, nor a pet. Soldier, you are to remain at the smithy and attend to all orders placed by any civilian to create one. This Entry is bringing in business to the palace and it will appear strange for a blacksmith to close shop. Do not allow anyone past the smithy and tell all who ask that we have chosen to attend the Entry. Keep note of all new business in the ledger and use the pricing in the fourth column."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The day progressed swiftly and Zola assessment proved correct. Many strangers, and some returning customers, came to the smithy, all wanting various tasks completed for the ball. The soldier did not find any of the requests particularly difficult, but the customers reactions indicated his completion times were well above standard.

He was briefly concerned about being remarkable, but the corresponding gratuities and continued business flow appeared to be in desired parameters. The general had indicated in the past that being considered a good blacksmith would be preferable to being considered an unusual one.

A giggling noble girl required a new carriage door and the previous reminder of "flirting" left the soldier equipped to socialize appropriately. He performed silent lingering glances and removed his shirt to work the forge. He used the details of a previous cover story to explain his magical arm — a broken forge, a grateful wizard. The girl, Audrey, was greatly moved by the story, and suitably enchanted by his skin and magic arm. She sat in the hot forge for nearly an hour and spoke nearly non-stop of the workings of the palace ball.

This was the first public appearance that Prince Steve, Sir Sam, Lord Tony and Lord Obadiah would make together, which alone made it thrilling for Audrey to attend. It also marked the first public access to the prince since the assassination attempts — or rather "accidents", as Audrey supposed they must be called. She imagined the prince to be extremely brave to take such a risk, and was just intrigued enough by the danger to want to see it up close. 

This was Prince Steve's first official event, one that he, himself, was providing to the public. Audrey's circle of acquaintances were delighted that it wasn't an exclusive one, and hoped it was a harbinger of such events occurring after Prince Steve claimed the throne. All the ladies were very eager for more social events, as Lord Stane's style had the effect of keeping things as they were. Ladies were hard pressed to expand their social circle. Audrey herself could scarce be acquainted with a hundred or so families, when her mother had known so many more in her youth.

The soldier found himself more and more impressed with the girl's ability to network. Zola was an accomplished spy master, and the soldier doubted he had half the intel Audrey held in her social calendar. Zola had been insistent that both Brock and the soldier cultivate society if possible, and he suddenly understood why.

Oblivious to his musings, Audrey was telling him about Prince Steve's "delightfully tragic" life and how much she hoped he would find happiness during the Royal Entry. She swooned and swayed so much on the little chair that the soldier found his arm constantly twitching to catch her —. Despite appearances of distraction, however, Audrey seemed perfectly balanced on it.

As she spoke, the soldier discovered that most of Audrey's information, though apparently sound, was obtained through several layers. The intricate networking was impressive and she detailed each source meticulously. The soldier found himself grinning at her, which he assumed was also due to a previously known directive.

Audrey had heard from her maid, who had a sister, who worked for a lady in waiting to Lady Stane, who knew from her husband — The palace had enough musicians on retainer to ensure constant festivities until seven in the morning, when the festivities would officially end. Both this night's event and the first tourney to follow were masquerades, apparently a decision made by Lord Stark. 

Audrey's mother's brother, who was a clerk to a Lord, who reported to the Royal Treasurer, said that royal coffers were swollen to such a state that the prince could well afford to marry anyone he chose. A masquerade meant that no one could be announced, so the prince would not be swayed by political connection or bloodlines. It also meant he could not insult anyone if he chose a favorite.

Of course, Audrey's mother's other brother, the eldest and current title holder, had insisted that this rule was bent all the time and efforts would be made to provide Audrey a proper introduction. The soldier noted that Audrey seemed ambivalent to the thought, her eagerness reserved for discussion of the music and the number of gilded statues in the ballroom.

Audrey's father also had a brother. He resented Audrey's father for being the eldest and title holder and had become a _socialist,_ of all things. _He_ claimed that Lord Stane had swollen the coffers illegally and many people were evicted for the crown to claim the land and harvest.

No one in Audrey's household officially spoke to him. After feigning the correct combination of curiosity and disinterest, the soldier was given the socialist uncle's name, current lodging and the names of the best pubs to find him on Sundays after services. Audrey had his promise to not reveal her connection to the man in public and his vow to relay her well wishes and to ask after his horse. The horse's name was Blaze.

After finishing the basic door mechanics, the soldier helped Audrey decide on the ornamental metal work — Audrey picked copper, which did, truly, bring out her coloring — and the discussion returned to the ball.

Audrey's friend — also, confusingly, named Audrey — had heard from her own maid, who had a brother who was one of the hired performers — the first masquerade dance was to start promptly at nine bells. A feast would begin at one and end at four, but guests would be have chamber music and light refreshments until seven bells in the morning. Audrey's brother had been adamant that Audrey was to return home promptly after the feast ended.

The soldier created a look of false concern. Crossing over to Audrey, he gently cupped her chin to tilt her face slightly up, leaning forward enough to allow his hair to fall in his eyes. In this ridiculously off balance position, he carefully wiped away feigned soot from the tip of Audrey's nose. The girl's eyes crossed and started to close. 

The soldier pitched his voice to a level called 'conspiratorial whisper' and asked why Audrey could not stay the night at the palace, while dropping his hand from her chin more slowly than necessary. "What happens after dinner?"

Audrey let out a deep sigh. "I don't know. I mean, I'm old enough to know it must do with — with —"

Her blush allowed the soldier to fill in probabilities. Mass murder seemed at odds with the stated intention of marriage, so — 

"Sex?" he asked, with a voice tone called a purr.

Audrey let out a loud gasp and covered her mouth with her hands. After a moment — she appeared concerned about being struck from above — she giggled nervously and whispered out from behind her hands. "Vanessa, my mother's cousin's unfortunate daughter, once went to a ball in the city. She became ruined and is now married to a —" she took her hands down to lean in and whisper even more softly, "A _tradesman_ with six children and five pigs in the house."

The soldier arranged his face into solemn agreement and nodded. "You will certainly be going home after dinner then."

Audrey looked around furtively and then whispered, "Oh, I hope _not._ Vanessa's only mistake was getting _caught!"_

—

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Audrey was the last customer of the day. The neighboring shops were all in the process of closing up, only the stable across the way remained open for rentals to the ball. The proprietor was suitably glad to hear that the soldier was to remain at the shop, a stable close to the palace with a working smithy nearby was likely to do a fair amount of business.

"How far are we from the palace?" The soldier asked.

The stable owner looked surprised. "Why — we can _see it_ , son." He pointed behind the soldier, who turned to look. 

The soldier was rarely outside the store and had never had occasion to recon more than the lane outside. He was startled to realize the lane he was in would have been part of a castle, had the massive building been such a fortification. He had previously noted the smithy sat on a high end of a sloping lane, and had been grateful for it while on latrine duty. He now saw that they actually resided in the slope of a hill, the palace walls were stretched above it.

"Are you feeling well?" asked the stable owner and the soldier found himself wondering if he should know his name.

"Yes, of course," said the soldier. "I meant to ask, how far is it by road to the palace gate? Do you really think the traffic will come to this side?"

The concern went away and the soldier was satisfied no oddities would be noted. "Oh, we may be out of the way, but we're the only lane wide enough for some of the noble carriages. They'll only get stuck in the mud if they go through town to the east. We'll see them, I have no doubt."

After a few more queries, the soldier determined that the stable was more concerned with renting to those wanting to go to the ball. The owner knew nothing that the soldier had not already learned from Audrey. He made his good-byes and returned to the smithy.

While completing the ledgers for the day, the soldier suddenly became alarmed. There was no ledger to detail his intel from Audrey. In fact, he had received no orders to gather such intel or to go outside to gather intel from the stable owner. He had even _disobeyed_ an order to stay inside and tend to the smithy. 

The tremors from the earlier session with Brock resumed. The soldier felt the magical arm pulsing with something resembling an... itch? That did not seem likely, but the sensation defied any other description. A fox cried outside and the soldier looked up and out the window. The palace glowed with light in the gathering dusk, he wasn't sure how he hadn't noticed it before now. 

_Why don't I look out the window?_

"Because they'll take it away if they know you like it," Bucky said to the room. The soldier found that assessment accurate. 

Bucky looked longingly at the window. "I want to go to the ball."

The flame in the forge flared a blue that reminded the soldier of the glow of his arm. An arrow flew in the window and landed three feet to the soldier's right, roughly two feet off the floor. There was a carbon wire attached to the shaft, extending out the window. As the soldier's eyes followed the line back out, he noted two blue glowing lights, floating down the length of the line, into the forge.

The lights flared and morphed into two forms, who continued sliding into the room before somersaulting to land in front of him. The first form was a man in what might have been an army archery uniform — had it not been a striking purple color. The man wore a harlequin mask, but had striking crystal blue eyes. The second form was a woman in a jet black, figure hugging leather outfit that the soldier deemed perfect for infiltration and stealth — but her face was not covered and her hair was a striking blood red, too showy to be unnoticed.

The soldier assumed they were fey; he had had encounters with such magical creatures before, they were sometimes drawn to his arm. He kept still and alert as that experience had taught him not to antagonize such beings unnecessarily. 

"Hi, Bucky, I'm Clint," said the man. The soldier merely nodded. The presence of the fey and the presence of a disembodied voice, possibly in his head, did seem a natural fit. Why wouldn't Clint know its name?

"You already know my name," said the woman. "But you've forgotten you do."

This seemed appropriately magical and mysterious, but it made Clint roll his eyes. "Nat, give it a rest."

Nat pouted beautifully. "He might have remembered, if we pushed."

"If he doesn't remember Steve, he's not going to remember you. Unless that one world —" 

Nat abruptly shoved Clint out of her way to go stand by the soldier. She had a slight look of dismay at the amount of soot on the soldier's hands and arms.

"Am I a ghost?" asked Bucky.

Nat leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. "There you are, Bucky. No, you aren't a ghost. You're a trope, which might be worse. But we'll get to that. About this ball —"

"I want to go," said the soldier, who was beginning to forget to anticipate pain.

Clint smiled. "Well, we're the best fairy godmothers in the land."

"Clint, stop calling us that."

"Nat, we fly in as bright blue balls of light!"

"That does appear to match standard descriptions," the soldier said.

Nat sighed deeply. "Whatever, you morons. Where to start?"

"Bath," suggested Clint.

"Agreed. And, then, it's makeover time!"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


	3. A Ball To Find One To Wed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first ball: Sam and Tony are Steve's fairy godfathers. Nat and Clint are Bucky's fairy godmothers. Neither are as successful as they could be but the author finally succeeds in getting Steve and Bucky in the same room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still haven't found a beta for this. I edit as the errors are found.

The Royal Entry had been designed by Steve's ancestors as some bizarre hazing ritual with the sole purpose of ruining Steven Grant Rogers' life. He could only assume they had used magic to peer into the future and decided, 'That kid. He believes in good in the world and tries to do what's right for the kingdom. Let's screw with him."

Steve had named Sam Master of Ceremonies to publicly declare his non-intention and to curb Lord Stark's natural tendency for ostentation. Instead, Sam now spent hours with Tony planning a ball that was going to be heralded as the definition of exhibitionism, if either of them were to be believed. Steve rarely saw the Falconer any more unless Tony was by his side.

The pair insisted on a fitting for a costume they then argued over. They wanted one that would show off Steve's 'perfect physique," while keeping him unidentifiable. This apparently led to an embarrassingly close fitted ensemble. The pants and long coat were white with elaborate blue piping and trim. The undershirt was a white silk that overflowed out from under a long, blue vest with dark embossing. 

Overall, Steve would have been able to grow accustomed to the outfit, he especially found the dark blue dyed leather boots comfortable and practical. That was when Sam had smiled wickedly and Tony produced what seemed like acres of sequined trim. Sam's assurances, that it would blend in with the surroundings, were less than ideal for putting Steve's growing horror to rest.

Then Sam, who claimed to understand Steve's past with dancing, had completely betrayed him. The ball was a masquerade and was filled with _hours_ of waltzes, minuets, swings and something called a "carola" which was a new level of hell combing dancing _and singing._

Heralds rode far and wide with invitations and proclamations — the proclamations themselves had been yet another Sam and Tony collaboration. Steve didn't know why, but there seemed to be a wave of nostalgia growing around the event. They were receiving word that many attendees would be arriving by carriage as well as air. The palace heralds had taken to walking door to door as if there weren't communicators in every city center.

He groused to Sam that they'd only been away for 15 years, not 50, but his friend had only laughed and threatened to subject Steve to fifty events if he didn't stop complaining. Steve definitely regretted putting him into such close quarters to Stark.

He'd faced down the most vile of Hydra's wizards and their creations, but he found he was no match for his two closest advisers acting in concert.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

True to his word, Stark did know how to throw a party. Within a fortnight of the invitations being sent, musicians, housing and libations were set. Married nobles, parents and guardians would act as chaperones, not in masks, allowing everyone a chance to enjoy the festivities. A separate entrance was designated to keep at least the pretense of anonymity for those attending in masks. As Steve understood it, several nobles were attempting bribes already to ensure Steve danced with their children and wards. 

Tony had been shamelessly taking the bribes with no intention of helping them. Steve was appalled but Sam seemed content to make certain the funds were put to public use.

By the day of the ball, the tension was thick within the palace. Steve found himself in his costume, though he hated to admit it, he did indeed blend well with the palace throng gathered in the courtyard in front of the Grand Staircase. Sam and Tony stood on the balcony above with several of the council. Sam wore his full colors while Tony wore his trademarked armor - with the face shield.

Steve groaned inwardly as he could hear several bystanders gossiping about what that meant and if Lord Stark intended to vie for the prince's affections.

'Ladies and Gentlemen, we are very pleased with the outpouring of interest in this week's festivities," began Sam. 'I'm sure that we all love our prince and wish him happiness." Steve watched as Obidiah tried to make his way to the front of the railing only to be cut off by Tony. Stark, in his full magical armor, could not have seen his mentor, but Steve found himself wondering, yet again, if Tony were as loyal to Stane as he seemed.

'While only one may claim the prince's intention," Sam continued.

'We are still checking on the legality of polyamory and the crown, that's not entirely out," Tony interrupted.

'I have been asked, by Prince Steve, to convey his affection for all," Sam stated, ignoring the bright crimson and gold distraction at his side.

'I mean, if this true love thing doesn't fly, the three of us," continued Tony, ignoring being ignored.

' — and his gratitude for everyone's efforts to make tonight a success." Sam was now ignoring the growing snickers from his audience as well.

' — we'd make some _incredibly_ gorgeous techno-magic babies. I mean, c'mon, _look_ at us!" 

'We are expecting a large crowd here this evening, please do your part to make everyone feel at home."

'Or at least to feel everyone," Tony swung a plated arm over Sam's shoulders and released his helmet, so he could rest his chin on Sam's shoulder and lick his lips.

'Do _not_ do … this," Sam said gesturing to the man hanging on him, causing the entire audience to break out into laughter, including Tony. Even Steve found himself grinning and chuckling at the antics. The pair were truly adept and cutting through the tension.

'Please exercise your judgment and make good choices," Sam finished with a semi-defeated tone. 

'Or, at least, make _fun_ bad choices," crooned Tony into Sam's ear. Sam pressed a button on his sleeve, extending his wing and tossing Tony off the balcony. Tony activated his repulsors, hovering with a delighted laugh. 

Obidiah stepped forward. 'We all want to make this a safe and successful night. Please help us and act accordingly." He raised his hand in a wave of obvious dismissal and began to leave the balcony to head indoors. Most of the balcony courtiers followed.

The crowd below began to disperse, while Tony floated overhead, cajoling them all to be present by 9 bells to watch Sam and Tony's first dance. Steve threw a startled glance to the balcony, where Sam still stood with his arms crossed. He hadn't realized the two would be leading the ball, although without an identifiable prince, he supposed someone would have to.

He let himself be herded indoors with the rest of the crowd. Steve didn't have many memories of his mother, but he felt certain she was somewhere laughing at him.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The soldier felt that someone must be playing a joke. Although he had limited reading or experience, he was not certain his fairy godmothers knew what they were doing. He had showered and scrubbed with a highly perfumed gel provided by Nat. He had then stood, clad in a towel, while the two fey circled him. He had found an odd sense of balance and calm. It was not unlike preparing for any mission in its own way. The proper gear was essential to mission success.

'Leather," Clint had finally said.

'Agreed." Nat nodded and flicked her hand. The towel was gone and replaced with dark brown leather pants. In the dim light of the forge, they looked nearly black, with burnt red highlights. 'What kind of boots?" 

'Equestrian?" asked Clint, uncertainly, although such boots appeared with a wave of his hand.

Nat's head tilted back and forth and her lips pursed into a bow. 'Fine," she finally agreed, waving her own hand. A strap and buckle appeared as adornment, but the boots were otherwise unchanged. The soldier was also now wearing a tight fitting red cotton shirt with full sleeves.

'Too plain," Clint commented.

'That's just the undershirt." Nat shrugged. 'He's got to look good as the layers come off," she asserted, with a slightly leering smirk.

Clint just rolled his eyes. 'Fine. Are we going vest?"

'I think so, he needs some color - everyone's going to be golden and bedazzled. It's a Stark party, after all."

'Hmm. You've got a point." Another hand wave from Clint and a fine padded silk vest, with embroidery and embossing appeared over the shirt. It was double breasted and the buttons were gold to match the silk. A chain led from the button to the vest pocket, and the soldier found a worn compass inside. There was a faded picture of an army Sergeant in full dress uniform inside.

_That_ _'s me… us… Sergeant James Barnes, 107th,_ whispered Bucky. The soldier found it satisfying to have a face for the voice, even though it wasn't his own.

He realized that a large brown overcoat with an oversized popped ascot collar had appeared on him. It shimmered like copper in the dying firelight of the forge. Both the fey seemed happy with it, but the soldier put his hand to his throat in silent protest. _I have gloves now too,_ he noticed.

'Of course you have gloves, no one can see your arm and hand tonight, it will raise too many questions, be too identifiable and end the story too soon," Nat remarked. 'And leave your ascot tie alone."

'This is not mission satisfactory," the soldier complained. 'It could be used against me in a fight."

'You're not going to fight," Clint assured him. 'If all goes to plan, it will get ripped off anyway."

That sounded very much like he was expected to fight to the soldier, but he stopped complaining as he found Nat's stare unnerving.

'We _have_ to do something about that hair," she sighed. 'It's completely ruining the look."

Clint shook his head. 'We can't shave and trim, Nat. They'd notice."

'My current hair length is determined by the necessity of the icing conducted by the general," the soldier observed. 'I believe the brittleness helps determine the duration of …" he stopped as Clint held up a hand.

'They break off pieces of hair while you're frozen to make sure they can still thaw you out?"

'Affirmative. Earlier processes have left scarring and I am therefore not to shave."

Nat leaned in closer. 'There's freezer burn under the stubble? Where?"

'I had noted that the burning has since healed," he explained, 'but they have not mentioned it again."

Clint smiled coldly. 'You mean they haven't noticed. Good. It's stolen magic, they have no business — '

Nat putt a hand on his soldier. 'Don't get on a rant, we have to get him to the ball." Her eyes gleamed with a sudden thought. 'A glamour. We can glamour his head for the night."

Clint looked as dubious as the soldier felt about the idea. Glamors were notoriously fickle things and failed frequently.

'Only at plot-specific points," Nat argued, 'but we'll have to be nearby to keep it up all night."

'That's what she said," Clint murmured to Nat's groan. 'You just want to go to this damn ball yourself."

'Don't be ridiculous," pouted Nat. ' _You_ _'re_ the one who won't let me cut his hair."

'Seriously, dude, if she comes at you with a straight razor, _shoot her_. But, damn, she has a point, that's a better look for you."

Clint handed him a mirror and the face from the compass, albeit older and more solemn, looked back at him. _But that_ _'s not me._

_It used to be,_ Bucky whispered, sounding close to tears. _It won_ _'t ever be again though._

'That will do nicely," approved Nat with a grin. 'Now, about a carriage..."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The ball was worse than Steve feared. At nine bells, Sam and Tony led the first dance, although Steve didn't remember flying as part of his youthful lessons. Once open to all attendees, Steve had found himself swarmed with admirers. Flustered, he'd insulted most of them who quickly decided he wasn't worth the effort. As a result, it was now the third dance and he'd yet to find a partner once. 

Both Sam and Tony had noticed and were casually, but quite obviously to Steve, strolling through the audience to find him.

He fled to the balcony.

Hiding in the corner by a large potted tree, Steve was watching the door intently, sparing only a cursory glance for the balcony to ensure his privacy. He was startled by a soft mechanical noise from the other side of the balcony railing. Curious, he peered over the side.

A man was climbing the wall into the ball, though his attire suggested he was a participant.

'I'm fairly certain the front door's still open," Steve joked. 'You don't have to sneak in."

The man looked up, a pair of blue eyes peering out from a simple black silk mask, his mouth slightly slack from surprise. They considered each other for a moment.

'Oh," said the climber. 'I forgot. Force of habit."

Steve grinned, although he wasn't entirely certain why he didn't find the man a threat. 'What kind of parties do you normally habit?"

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The soldier was out of his element. Having fairy godmothers produce a quinjet and earbuds had been disorienting. That the quinjet was invisible and silent had been impossible. Bucky had been jealous of both it and the weapons locker inside. The soldier merely approved.

'It's okay," Clint assured. 'You can be jealous. We're awesome."

Nat had simply nodded.

They dropped him off in the back lawn, intending to hover in the invisible, silent, delightfully weapons filled quinjet to keep an eye on him and the glamour. He had naturally proceeded to scale the closest wall until he had encountered the party-goer.

'I can't believe we have to tell him to use doors," complained Clint in his ear as the man asked what he was doing.

'That does seem pretty basic, Bucky. That's not something we should have to tell you," agreed Natalie.

'Yeah, like, I know people order you to kill people, but it's not like we have to — ' both fey sucked in a breath.

' ** _Bucky, do not kill the guy on the balcony!_** " The voices in unison carried a vibration of power that threatened to blow out the earbud.

The soldier was definitely out of his depth. Having no other instruction than not to use lethal force, the soldier settled for the truth. This appeared to be mission satisfactory as the man on the balcony seemed amused but not threatened, merely extending a hand down. The soldier was surprised that he had no problem lifting him to the balcony. Most people felt the arm made him far too heavy.

They stood facing each other for a moment. 

'Thank you," the soldier finally said. 'I am a blacksmith. I don't normally go to balls."

A lopsided grin appeared as his new asset ducked his head. 'Yeah, well, I'm the one hiding on the balcony so I'm not so good at it myself — '

They were interrupted by the balcony doors being thrown open. The soldier instinctively stepped back as he recognized Lord Stark from various mass communications. Stark froze in the door and looked quickly from one to the other.

'Well, I was coming out here to yell at you for not dancing, but … oops?"

'What? No. We're not… I mean, he just got here. We just met!" 

The soldier wasn't certain why the man was blushing. 

'Introduce yourself!" Nat hissed in his ear. 'That's Tony Stark!"

'I'm Jefferson," the soldier said, supplying the name the fey had given him. He also remembered to hold out his hand. His balcony-mate shook it.

'I'm … pleased to meet you. I mean, I'm… '

'Grant. His name's Grant. Mine's Tony. You're Jeff. You two should go dance now where we can all enjoy the awkwardness."

Stark moved much more gracefully and quickly than the armor he wore should allow, and  managed to maneuver Grant and him into the main ballroom.  As the soldier was under orders not to attack, he allowed the manhandling to occur without resistance. Soft music was beginning and they found themselves in the middle of dancers.

The soldier immediately moved to hold Grant closer, as blending to ensure mission success was the only course of action that made sense on this night. Grant's arms went around him without hesitation, but his movements were stiff and he continuously flinched where their bodies touched.

'Do you not dance?" The soldier asked, noting that Grant had freckles that nearly disappeared when he blushed.

'Yes, I mean … I was taught, but I'm not that good…"

They had completed a half circle and were well into the ballroom at this point, so the soldier doubted that assessment. He did some mental assessments on the next two turns and determined a possible assessment. 'You should lead."

'Wha —?" Grant's protest broke off as the soldier switched hand positions and brought himself in closer. Now pressed at the hips, the pairs movements synched and the soldier found it easy to follow Grant's steps. He was also oddly mesmerized by the movement of Grant's throat and jaw as he swallowed hard.

'This is better," the soldier noted, his voice sounding oddly out of breath.

'Yes," Grant agreed, also sounding as if he had difficulty breathing. Perhaps there was an airborne threat. 

_No, you moron, we like being led while dancing. And that_ _'s not a weapon, so he's really beginning to like taking the lead._ Bucky offered, sounding mournful for some reason.

The soldier found himself moving his hips forward and had to agree with Bucky's assessment. Although he had never been used as a true honeytrap, the training had been enough for him to understand the basics. He found the idea of luring Grant to one of the alcoves Audrey had been so descriptive over … satisfactory.

The music finished instead and he stepped back with an unusual feeling of regret.

'Dude, you might want to get a room," was Clint's observation.

'No, dammit, we need him to find Steve and get on with the story," disagreed Nat.

The soldier scanned the room, looking for his guardians, and was observed doing so by Grant, who frowned slightly.

'Hey, thanks for the dance, but if you're here with someone, that's fine —"

As the next song started, the soldier spotted Zola and Brock at the staircase, visually sweeping the crowd. He stepped back into Grant's arms and pulled him back to spin away from their gaze. Glamour or not, he did not like to think about what they would do if they recognized him. After a startled step, Grant quickly began leading again.

' — or not," Grant chuckled. They spun into the crowd.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nat was the best fairy godmother in the history of the fey, if she did say so herself and have to ignore everything said about Loki to think it. But there were limits. Just how was a fairy godmother supposed to match her violated and possibly lethal godchild to the prince of his dreams and destiny when they all looked alike? _While_ keeping a glamor intact, _while_ dancing with Clint, who was _not_ leading, no, thank you, and _while_ distracting a pair of HYDRA agents from uncovering them all? 

'You're the one who insisted he needed a cut and shave.  It's a masquerade, who knew they'd take it so seriously? And I _should_ be leading.  I'm taller."

Nat just lifted and eyebrow and spun him.  This put him within earshot of General Zola and Brock Rumlow, who had spotted Bucky earlier and was scanning the crowd to verify.

'Natter, natter, red skull," Clint dutifully said, spinning back towards Nat before the startled pair could place the source.  They spun away across the floor, swaying the entire room with them and magically nudging the musicians.

The effect from above was sure to be beautiful.

Clint spun away again, releasing a magic arrow faster than human eyes would see, ricocheting off several ladies hats and hitting the bronze shield of one of the statues.  It moved two millimeters to the left, causing a reflection to momentarily blind Brock as he once again searched the room.

'Show off," muttered Nat.

Clint just winked.

Nat pulled a bubble out of a magical subspace pocket and whispered into it.  She held it out and blew it away with a kiss.  Across the floor it floated, weaving in and out of the dancers, floating around and under trays and tables, until it came up behind the HYDRA agents.

It burst with a slight flash of blue light.

'So Banner's formula works now?" Nat's voice escaped out before fading into nothing.  Zola spun and looked around animatedly.  Finally he dragged a protesting Brock out of the ballroom and towards the doorway behind them.

'Yeah, _that_ _'s_ not showing off at all," teased Clint.  

'It's efficient," Nat insisted with a sniff.  'Now they're gone and we can focus on —" 

'Pardon me, I'm cutting in," came over the comms. Nat and Clint shared a horrified look and turned in time to see Sam Wilson appear and sweep their abused and slightly homicidal godchild into his arms and away from his new crush.

'Bucky, do **_not_** kill the Falcon," said Clint.

'Please," added Nat, who still felt manners were important. The gong sounded, announcing the start of the banquet.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

'People are always telling me not to kill people," the soldier complained. He had relaxed his guard completely and foolishly, and had now lost track of Grant in the crowd milling towards the dining hall. The interloper had swung an arm around the soldier's waist and was walking them along with the crowd.

'Yeah, well, you don't know who you're dancing with, so I can see why that would be confusing," his partner answered with a grin. 'I'm Sam, by the way. What's your name, where are you from, what do you do, are you already married or otherwise?"

The soldier tried to stop walking, but found himself still being led. 'I'm Jefferson, I'm from Breuckelen because this is where I work. As a blacksmith, and no, but I am not going to marry you, you are far too pushy."

A grin tinged with what the soldier hoped was respect lit Sam's face. 'Now who the hell is Grant and why do the Royals keep showing up?"

_Wait_ , said Bucky, in a tone of puzzled wonder, but the soldier and Sam were interrupted by Lord Stark appearing in front of them at the dining hall door.

'Hey, I see you finally took my advice and got a partner." The joviality in Stark's voice sounded slightly false to the soldier, although Sam reacted with embarrassment, letting the soldier go. 

'Sorry, that sounded like I wanted a discussion," Stark continued, turning away and twisting his wrist.  The armor twisted and collapsed, revealing his hands as he lifted them and clapped.  The ease in which Stark changed from the mechanical to flesh made the soldier's arm ache for reasons he could not explain.

Three women in identical costumes responded to the clapping, coming over to the men now slightly bottle-necking the doorway to the banquet hall. The position was exposed and the soldier was growing more agitated by the second.  Sam didn't notice, even in such close proximity as he was reaching out for Stark.

'Tony, come on, man —" The Falconer cut off as the women draped themselves onto the Lord.  

Stark grinned lasciviously at the pair.  'You boys have fun.  Ladies, have you seen the hot tub?"

Sam was cursing softly under his breath. 'Overgrown man-child…"

Rumlow and Zola appeared in the crowd approaching the hall. The soldier instinctively moved into Sam's space for what little cover it offered.  Sam looked startled.

'Sorry, I —"

They were interrupted yet again as Rumlow approached close enough to reach out and try to touch the soldier's left arm.

'Got him," Nat's welcome voice rang out.  As the commander's hand gripped his arm, the soldier felt a magical tingle.  Judging from the confusion on Rumlow's face, the arm had been successfully glamoured to feel like flesh.

'Dude.  I'm standing _right here,_ _"_ complained Sam.  'Find your own date."

Rumlow had been so intent on the soldier, he had somehow not noticed who he was standing next to. Sam grabbed the soldier's other arm and unceremoniously yanked him along and into the banquet hall.

'I don't get it. You aren't all _that_ hot. It must be a rich boy thing.  Look, I have to go, but we need to talk.  Just don't go wandering into any dark corners with Grant until I get back."

Before the soldier could protest that he had no intention of wandering anywhere, Sam had let go of his arm, pivoted and was walking back the way Stark had left. Deeming this to be the best outcome, the soldier found himself wandering towards the buffet with the other guests to provide cover while he tried to locate Zola.  Rumlow was being detained by the guards who had seen Sam's displeasure and was obviously taking pains not to be memorable.  This just left the general to worry about.

As he scanned the room, he found himself cataloging faces and trying to find Grant.  He was not happy with this development, finding _Zola_ was the clear survival objective.  He settled for looking for both, and did a slight double take as he spotted Audrey at one of the higher royal tables. She was chatting in her animated fashion with a man in a black and copper harlequin. Although masked, the soldier had seen a good deal of her costume while deciding on ornamentation for the door, and there was no hiding her mannerisms from the trained assassin. 

He obtained a plate of food in proportion to what others were taking, as he made his way slowly around towards her. Audrey would provide a ready social shield should Zola discover him.  _Sure, pal. The fact that we actually like her and she_ _'s the only soul we know here has nothing to do with it._ The soldier ignored the voice and deliberately walked slower towards her.

'Bucky, Clint's on Zola.  You're clear in the dining hall, but I've lost visual? Can you walk out a bit? Or, better yet, head towards the Royal tables.  Let's get this plot rolling."

The soldier complied and was rewarded with a magical pulse as his fairy godmother caught sight of him again.  He continued his approach to Audrey, who was looking slightly awkward as two other women had come up and started speaking to her harlequin companion.

'Audrey?" The soldier whispered, leaning down slightly as he came up behind her.  She did not jump or appear unduly startled, improving his already high opinion of her.  Curiosity was the only thing he could see in her gaze.  He flexed his magic arm, causing the tell-tale gear shifting noise.  'My name's Jefferson.  I don't think I ever said."

'You made it!"  Audrey sounded overly pleased to see him again, her tone even attracting the attention of her companions.  'I'm so glad!  Have you eaten yet?"

He held up his plate in slight confusion.  

Her overwide smile stiffened slightly, and she continued haltingly, 'Oh…  good. I'm… hungry."

The harlequin spoke up, 'I thought you said —"

'Oh, you know how it is.  You think you aren't hungry and then you smell food…" She grabbed one of the cheeses from the soldier's plate, using the motion to loop one arm through his and slightly apply pressure.  The soldier was still confused but took the hint, leading her away towards the buffet.  The harlequin looked pained and searching for something to say, but one of the women he'd been speaking to hissed something sharply, forcing him to turn away.

Once they were a few steps away, the soldier leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, 'Why are you avoiding him? You've been talking to him since I got in the room."

Her cheeks flared red. 'I didn't realize it had been so long.  I — we — I mean, those women were — Well, I didn't realize just how high a bar that was, let's say."  She looked unsure for the first time. 'I think he's actually part of the Privy Council. Certainly not interested — I mean nothing beyond —"  

She drew herself up and took a deep breath.  'Well, that's that. Now, what about you?  How on earth did you find such a wonderful outfit?  … Did you _shave?_ Oh, dear, that's just _unfair._ "

She smiled flirtatiously, once again the confident socialite. He winked back and leaned in further.  'I even _bathed._ With _scented soap._ "

He earned a delighted, genuine giggle.  As he straighted, he caught sight of the harlequin, who had been in the process of following them, but at the sound of her laugh, had provided a blush of his own and turned away.

'Aw, they're adorable. Let's fix them next," said Clint in the ear-piece.

'Focus on Zola," Nat admonished.

'Yeah, yeah.  He's trying to make sure there isn't a Tesseract in the statue of Howard Stark in the ballroom.  I've got time to multi-task."

The fey's banter distracted the soldier to an unacceptable degree, enabling him to be surrounded without notice by a group of men.  Audrey seemed to recognize them with displeasure and the quality of their costumes implied they were from the various aristocracy.  The soldier mentally cursed as he determined that he and Audrey were neatly cut off from the rest of the banquet and it would draw unwanted attention to deal with them.

He spotted a doorway to a sitting room and pulled Audrey towards it.  The men, he counted five total, found his maneuvering amusing, mistaking it for attempted escape.

One of them spoke, 'Well, Miss ‘It's _masked ball_ not _moron ball_ ' I see you couldn't compete with the Royal table.  Decided on slumming it after all?"

All five followed them into the sitting room. The walls were lined with shelving loaded with various books, paintings and statuary.  There was a settee in the middle of the room with a large round tapestry rug underneath.  They were in the interior so there were no windows and the doorway they had entered was the only entry to the room.

_Satisfactory,_ the soldier thought.

Audrey had been confused by his leading her here and was growing slightly alarmed.  "Leave us alone," she demanded.

The 'moron ball' all laughed. The one closest to her reached out and stroked a bare shoulder.  'That's not friendly.  Isn't this whole ball about making new _friends_?"

The leering emphasis on the word made him the first target.  Pulling Audrey to his right side, the soldier swung out with his left arm, striking the man in the throat.  Moron No. 1  went down with satisfying speed, allowing the soldier to follow through on the swing and connect with the next man's jaw.

Moron No. 2 threw his head back and staggered, barely managing to stay on his feet.  On his right, Audrey's original intake of air had sounded like a prelude to a shout. It resolved into a soft, impressed, 'Oh."

_Atta girl,_ Bucky thought.  _Watch it, pal.  No. 4_ _'s got a dagger._

'Wait.  _Who_ has a dagger?" Nat demanded in his ear.

He didn't have time to respond as the three remaining morons charged.  He caught No. 3 with a kidney punch and shouldered No. 5 as a shield, but was pulled down over the settee under the bulk. The furniture cracked underneath them, but did not break, entangling them all. No. 4 did, in fact, have a dagger and he was now circling above the pile trying to wave it in front of the soldiers face.  He was blustering, 'Who do you think you are, punk?"

An arm appeared around his neck and another arm grabbed the wrist holding the dagger.  With a neat twist, the weapon dropped to the floor and the moron was spun away.  Grant glared angrily around the room, although the sequined costume perhaps detracted from the intimidation.

'What the hell is going on?" Grant demanded.

No. 3 had recovered from the kidney punch and was twisting his ascot, making it as difficult to breathe as he'd feared, but the soldier tried to respond anyway. 'Moron Ball," he croaked, gesturing with his free arm.  'Audrey," he gestured again to the damsel who was struggling between looking distressed or delighted.

Grant took a moment to slowly blink and process the information before rolling his eyes.  With an elbow, he clocked No. 4 in the nose as the well named Moron was attempting to splutter out more bluster.  Grant reached over and with one hand lifted and tossed No. 3 off of the soldier.

Bucky lay in shock as Grant … _Steve?_ … repeated the process with No. 5.  _What_ _'s going on?_

No. 2 had recovered and behind … _Steve?_ 's …. back, reached for the discarded dagger.

Without thinking, Bucky scrambled off the broken overturn settee.  With one continuous motion, he rolled past Steve, kicked No. 2 in the chest and flipped to sit on him.  Without pause, he raised his left arm and smashed his fist into his face.

And then he did it again.

As he lifted for a third blow, a voice yelled, 'Enough!" 

He was suddenly slammed into the wall.  He was held there as the voice continued, 'What is _wrong_ with you people?  This is a _ball_.  It's supposed to be _social_ not _combat_.  No one should get an injury requiring more than a day to recover from.  Who the hell —"

There was only one soul in existence that could righteously lecture a man like that while kicking his ass.

'Steve?" Bucky asked. _What_ _'s on my face? Why is Steve staring at me like that?_

The arm holding him fell away and Bucky put his hands to his face. A mask came away, allowing him to better see.

Steve's eyes' widened behind his mask. _Steve. How did I not recognize Steve? Where are we?_

The crown prince appeared out of breath and slightly slack jawed, but managed a whispered, 'Bucky?"

The soldier finally asked the question he'd been holding for days. 'Who the hell is Bucky?"

The world promptly exploded.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so it's been over a year, but in my defense, I did have major eye issues and finally wound up having surgery. That's when I discovered I'd somewhat abandoned this. Thank god for Scrivener.
> 
> Steve is wearing a Labrynth styled version of his Nomad outfit. Bucky is dressed like a less shabby Jefferson/Mad Hatter from OUAT.

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, in a slightly steampunk world of science and magic, CA:TFA happened and parts of IM also happened. BUT THEN!
> 
> If there's anything glaring, let me know and I shall edit. Please note: This is just setup, not the style the entire work will be in.


End file.
